Eye of the Storm

by John Ringo

  He had been young in spirit in those days, convinced that the mighty SS could, singlehandedly if necessary, defend the Fatherland. Young enough in spirit to fall in love.

  Which was why he carried the flowers. Always. Everywhere.

  "Yes, Herr Oberstleutnant," Frederick said, shaking the Bruederschaft commander's hand nervously. The colonel, as always, had the helmet with flowers in it. Frederick had finally gained enough time in the battalion that the flowers were explained. He, therefore, gulped slightly. A happy day for him might not be so for the colonel.

  Frederick Erdmann was tall, nearly two meters, with a slender but muscular body. With handsome features, ice blue eyes and short-clipped blond hair he had been more than popular in gymnasium. Then he'd turned eighteen and been ceremoniously dumped out of gymnasium and into the arms of the Bruederschaft Michael Wittmann.

  That was the pattern of Freiland. With work for so many hands the old and a few of the younger women, those out of gymnasium, what Americans called "high school," but not yet bearing, took care of the children during the day until they, too, could enter school. Then the school system raised them until it was time for them to be chosen by a Bruederschaft. The English cognate would be "Brotherhood" but it was much more than that. The Bruederschaft was a social service organization, a guild in many cases, the way you advanced in society in most cases and, most important, your reserve unit. The initial testing for the Bruederschaft was tough and demanding but without a membership there was little chance of making anything of yourself in Freiland. Virtually everyone was a member, the males in combat positions, the females in many of the support positions.

  The initial term of service was five years but it didn't mean you were out on patrol all the time. The Bruederschafts ran the farms and factories, taught skills, chose who would go to the local, foreign or even off-planet universities and generally ran the economy of Freiland.

  At that, he had been lucky to get into his father's Bruederschaft. Bruederschaft Michael Wittmann had managed, recently, to scratch up the money for a new forge. The forge was already producing useful items, repair parts for tractors and trucks, tools and all the other necessary bits of metal that made up civilization. As soon as he had been accepted as a full member of the Bruederschaft, he intended to apply for a machinist trainee position. Then he and Marta would be sitting on easy street.

  "I have only one suggestion for you, Frederick," the Oberstleutnant said. "Take what happiness you can find when it is given to you. Life is short. Live it."

  "Jawohl, Herr Oberstleutnant," Frederick said.

  "I will leave you to your celebration."

  And quite a celebration it was. It seemed that the entire Brotherhood had turned out for his betrothal celebration. It was less the truth that both he and Marta were popular in the Bruederschaft than that any chance for celebration was taken.

  Frederick did not recall the really bad years, having been born since things were more established. But the old people, those old of body and the few remaining rejuvs, were always happy to tell of it. After the Siege was lifted practically the first action of the European Council had been to disband the remaining SS units. They were given their last month's pay and a bonus amounting to only another month then told, "thank you for your service, now take off those uniforms before we spit on them."

  The Generalfeldmarschall, though, had already planned for the eventuality. First, he gathered the units in their various alpine and arctic sanctuaries then had the personnel pool their money. With that cash they bought minimum necessary equipment. Salvage trucks, used tractors, tools, seeds, machine tools, bare minimum supplies. They had been allowed to keep their personal weapons. The Siege had ended in autumn. Full clearing of all Posleen concentrations took nearly a month. It took the rest of the winter to prepare, a winter of begging for scraps from the people they had saved. In spring, the two separated units had set off into the wilderness of what had once been Central Europe.

  The French units wanted to set up around Paris. However, there were far more surviving Germans. The Generalfeldmarschall had chosen Koblenz as a defensible position, nearly equidistant from both formations, from which they could colonize in both directions.

  Fields were cleared, hovels built for shelter and bunkers for defense. The Posleen bred fast, and while they were no longer the technological locusts they had been, they were still numerous. Good people were lost simply sowing, clearing and harvesting. The first crop by the non-farmers was scant. Ammunition was short. And there was no one on Earth willing to help those pariahs, the SS.

  But they survived. Many died that first winter, from Posleen, from malnutrition, from sickness. But the strong survived. Some groups joined them, scattered nationalist survivors from Eastern Europe. Germans who believed in resurrecting the Fatherland. Frenchmen gathering to the Charlemagnes who still intended to start a new colony in France. Many of the Judas Maccabeans had come with them and the Jews were fine comrades; smart, tough and willing as the day was long. More gathered on them, despite the reputation of the SS. Freiland accepted anyone as long as they lived up to the demanding standards of Herr Generalfeldmarschall. The Maccabeans had even adopted the deathly joking slogan: Arbeit Macht Frei. But they were still the only ones allowed to say it.

  But now was the time for celebration, with burgeoning fields, forges that were approaching the dignity of being called factories. For this special gathering bratwursts were raising a delicious aroma unto heaven, cuts graced the table and spring greens filled locally made plastic bowls. Das Volk were, again, reprising the German Miracle. Slowly, so slowly. But it was being done.

  "Frederick, you have not been drinking enough," Hagai Goldschmidt said, handing him a tankard of beer. "There are two days when being totally shit-faced is appropriate. This is one of them."

  He and Hagai had grown up in the same creche and spent much of their time in school together, including being star wings for their gymnasium football team. But since joining the Bruederschaft he had seen little of his childhood friend.

  "Jaeger," Frederick said, taking the beer then wrapping the lighter man's head in a lock. The pronunciation of "Hagai" and "Jaeger," Deutsch for "hunter" was close enough that the nickname had been natural to the non-Jews who dealt with the slim, fast young man. "You are a runt and you shall always be a runt." He took the mug and rubbed it into his friend's head, hard.

  "And you are a large block of wood, you idiot," the Jew said, wriggling to get free. "Let me go, you big ox!"

  Frederick released him and carefully straightened his friend's yarmulke.

  "So, how is Judas Maccabaeus?"

  "What can I say?" Hagai said, shrugging. "Was your first period as bad as mine?"

  "Work the fields all day then train all night?" Frederick asked, chuckling. "One week in three on perimeter? No sleep, bad food and sergeants shouting at you constantly?"

  "And no women," Hagai said, grinning. "But you didn't have to do prayers every Shabbat. Or not be allowed motor transport on same."

  "When there is any!" Frederick said.

  " 'The trucks will pick us up after the sweep!' " they both chorused, then chuckled.

  "I have not spoken to you since we left gymnasium," Frederick said, shaking his head. "I am ashamed. What are your duties, now?"

  "Grenadier," Hagai said, shaking his head. "When we have ammo I can even think of firing it. If it does not explode in my hands. You?"

  "Ammo bearer in a machine-gun section," Frederick said. "But I will never make gunner. My gunner is Rudi Harz."

  "I know that name," Hagai said, frowning. "A juv? Yes, he was a tank commander in the War! A gunner? I would have thought Oberfeldwebel at least."

  "He likes it," Frederick said, blandly. "And, yes, he is very good."

  "He should be, after doing it for fifty years," Hagai said, chuckling.

  "But, you want to speak of training?" Frederick said, shuddering. "He is a shrimp like someone else who shall remain nameless. You think I would be able t
o keep up with him. No! He is like some sort of lightning made flesh. And no matter how fast I get the ammo to him it is always 'Too slow, Ox! We are all dead by now! You are too slow!' He had me running up and down the Fort hill with my full combat load for a night! I think I threw up my last meal from gymnasium on that hill."

  "Work will make us free," Hagai said, shrugging again. "We make better days."

  "Let us hope so," Frederick said. "It was not as hard for us as for the oldsters, but I want my children to grow up in a better world. Children. What a thought."

  "And Marta?" Hagai asked. "Is she wanting to be a good SS mother? You two are, of course, the perfect couple but are you perfect enough?" he added with a wink.

  "She says that she's going to repopulate the Fatherland on her own," Frederick said, then grinned. "But since I don't think she can really do it on her own . . ."

  "Yes," Hagai said, smiling faintly. "Let's hope she doesn't have to."

  "What?" Frederick said. "So gloomy suddenly?"

  "You have not heard of the new threat?" Hagai asked.

  "Das Hedren," Frederick said, shrugging. "I have heard something. I have been busy. They are far away."

  "Germans," Hagai said, shaking his head. "They have taken three worlds already, one of them a Darhel core world. Michael O'Neal, the American David, has been appointed a supreme commander to deal with them. And Herr Generalfeldmarschall has been called away."

  "Where?" Frederick asked.

  "I do not know," Hagai said. "Or at least I was not told. But I doubt it was to a tea party. I see your blushing nearly fiancée looking daggers at me. I suggest you get your large and bony ass over there; the ceremony is about to begin."

  "Takao," Mike said as the newly minted admiral entered his office. "Thanks for coming. I think that technically you outrank me or something."

  "Then we need to get you another star," Admiral Takagi said, taking the indicated chair.

  "Not on your life." Mike tapped down his dip and pulled out a pinch. "I'm assured by all sorts of people, official and less official, that this room is secure. We're just going to have to hope. Because this doesn't leave the room."

  "Yes, sir," Takagi said, regarding the smaller man carefully.

  "Been thinking about the strategic situation?" Mike asked.

  "It is . . . unfortunate," Takagi said, his face deadpan.

  "You're here because since we're pretty much the same rank we can actually discuss stuff," Mike said, frowning. "I sort of need a more . . . American answer. Let me tell you what I see . . ."

  He brought up a hologram of the local arm, then zoomed in on the area around Gratoola.

  "Gratoola system," Mike said, highlighting it. "Single habitable planet is Darhel owned. Gratoola is an A Class star, the only one sitting in the gap between two local clusters. Since A Class stars have a deeper grav well, they make longer and more useable lines to other stars; lower power use, faster transit times and much longer links. In other words, it's one hell of a transit point. The inner local cluster has Earth, Diess, Barwhon, Indra, a couple of other Indowy planets and the Blight. The outer cluster has the majority of the rest of the Federation in three clusters. Since all the freighters, at least, use the ley-line form of transport, they can either take a looong route around through secondary clusters, one of which the Hedren now control, or they have to jump through Gratoola. Where they usually fuel up, pick up supplies, get repairs, etc."

  "Which is why the Darhel control it," Takagi said. "It's a revenue generator."

  "Also more or less central to the whole Federation, which is why it's the capital," Mike said. "Have you been briefed on the Hedren mass jump system?"

  "Yes," Takagi said. "Sixty light-year range."

  "Which means from Daga, they can hit Gratoola, Barwhon and Savabathaet. I don't want to fight on Barwhon again and from what I've seen of the Hedren they won't want to fight on Barwhon, either. But it's a possible jump point. However, from there they'd only get into the Earth cluster, most of which is fucking Blight. Savabathaet would close up their control of the Daga cluster but leave them having to take another jump to Haetulu to get into the Salang cluster. If they take Gratoola, though . . ."

  "There are nine planets they can reach," Takagi said. "All three major clusters of the Federation."

  "And if they take Gratoola, or even make the local space too dangerous to cross through—"

  "It will cut us off from the rest of the Federation," the admiral finished.

  "So we're on the same boat," Mike said, nodding. "I hoped I'd picked the right guy. Conclusion."

  "We cannot lose Gratoola," Takagi said. "Which is why, as I find competent officers and NCOs, I'm pushing everything I have to Gratoola."

  "Which is a good place for it," Mike said. "But it's not where it's going to be used."

  "Excuse me?" Takagi said. "We don't want to lose Gratoola."

  "And we won't," Mike said. "Since the Darhel were afraid the Posleen were going to get that far they armed up Gratoola before we even got into the war. There are two battle-stations guarding major ley-lines. They're not much good there but they can be, slowly, repositioned. And the ground-based defenses are the best the Tchpth and the Indowy could design. Also highly automated, since they figured they were going to lose a Darhel every time they fired. Getting a fleet within a light-hour of Gratoola would be hard. If the Hedren can't use their porter, they're going to have a hard time taking the planet."

  "If," Takagi said. "Ah . . ."

  "Ah, indeed," Mike said. "Condition of Fleet."

  "Very bad," Takagi said, sighing. "Worse even than I had thought. I can prepare a briefing."

  "Would you want to sit through one?" Mike asked. "And I don't really need the details."

  "At the time of the elimination of your corps there were, on paper, four hundred ships in action," Takagi said. "None of a class above a cruiser. First, Second, Third and Fifth Fleet. Fourth Fleet was a 'reserve' force."

  "All stuff I knew," Mike said.

  "More or less a hundred vessels in each," Takagi continued. "About sixty combat vessels and forty support of one sort or another including fast troop carriers."

  "And now?" Mike asked.

  "Let me first talk about what actually existed," Takagi said, grimacing. "Fifth Fleet was at about fifty percent of nominal. That is, there were about fifty total ships."

  "I hadn't realized there were that few," Mike said. "But we didn't need a lot."

  "Other planets did," Takagi said. "There are two planets in the Blight which can be described as active Posleen colonies."

  "Crap," Mike said. "Look, I cleared those worlds—"

  "But you know it's impossible to kill every last Posleen and every last egg. Short of coating the whole planet in gamma rays and even then an egg would have been dumped in a cave. The Posleen were supposed to be controlled by orbital satellites and occasional visits from Fleet and Consolidation units," Takagi said. "On paper, there were visits to them by regular patrols and there were orbital control stations."

  "In reality?" Mike asked.

  "The patrol units were only on paper," Takagi said, stone-faced. "As were the orbital control stations. The construction funds for the latter went to one admiral and various other officers. As did the maintenance and pay of imaginary personnel. The funds to support the patrol units were going to Admiral Suntoro."

  "And Darhel," Mike said.

  "Oh, yes, everyone had to pay off the Darhel," Takagi said. "That is a given. That is Fifth Fleet. The majority of the ships that actually existed were diverted to the Daga cluster to find out what was happening out there."

  "And ran into the Hedren," Mike said.

  "Correct," Takagi said. "They are, according to the Himmit, gone. There were two destroyers that survived the battle and escaped. The Himmit tracked them down and determined that they had run out of fuel in undeveloped systems and . . . well . . ."

  "Not a good way to go," Mike said. "On the other hand, they were probably some of
the same bastards that dropped rocks on my corps so I'm not going to cry for them, Argentina."

  "Excuse me?" Takao asked.

  "Sorry, very obscure reference," Mike said. "Continue."

  "Fifth Fleet was, actually, one of the better ones," Takao said. "Third was, apparently, less than thirty ships, most of them in the Daga system. In fact, there are indications that they never moved from the Daga system. There are records of patrols, but there are no reports outside of Fleet reports of the ships visiting the systems they were listed for."